


Professional Ethics for the Freelance Massage Therapist

by edibleflowers



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: Ignis Scientia is probably one of the most tightly-wound people Prompto Argentum has ever met in his life.Or, Prompto offers to help Ignis relax a little. It backfires. A little.





	Professional Ethics for the Freelance Massage Therapist

**Author's Note:**

> I have really lost my writing mojo. Idk what happened to it but it's gone. At least I managed to wrangle this fic out before it left. Thanks to the lovely lemniskate for reading it over for me and for the title.
> 
> This was loosely inspired by a prompt I saw on Tumblr that had to do with Ignis being starved for touch. I will update this with the source if I find it; however, this fic isn't meant to be a direct response to that.

Ignis Scientia is probably one of the most tightly-wound people Prompto Argentum has ever met in his life.

It's not necessarily a bad thing. Ignis is on a level all his own when it comes to making plans and analyzing situations. He also drives them everywhere, organizes them, keeps them fed, buys the supplies, manages their budget, and -- occasionally -- sleeps. Sometimes. (Prompto isn't honestly sure when; Ignis is always the first to rise, and often the last to bed.)

Prompto wonders if Ignis ever gets to relax. The guy's only 22 years old but acts like he's in his mid-forties, and probably already has the ulcer to show for it. What'll he be like when Noctis takes the throne? Will he get a break then? Probably not: once Noctis ascends, Ignis's responsibilities will only increase. Instead of managing the four of them on the most random roadtrip ever, he'll have all the Citadel to oversee.

Maybe that's why Prompto steps up behind Ignis one day after dinner and begins massaging his neck. Gladio is washing the dishes (Ignis does, at least, insist that the others handle _some_ of the chores) and Noct is lost in whatever game he's found this week on his phone. While Ignis jots notes in his notebook -- recipe ideas, perhaps, or totting up their money, or figuring out what they're running low on -- Prompto just sets his hands on Ignis's shoulders and begins to work at the stiff muscles.

He isn't really surprised that Ignis stiffens more, at first, almost hunching into himself. "Thank you, but that's not necessary," Ignis says, his voice clipped.

"Dude, you're one gigantic knot," Prompto replies. "I'm pretty sure it is."

His thumbs dig into tense trapezoids, and, despite his initial objection, Ignis begins to relax. _Man, the guy can't even let himself relax for five minutes_ , Prompto thinks, with some genuine sympathy. Prompto carries very little concern with him, most of the time; apparently, Ignis is holding up his share as well as everyone else's.

When he works his hands up the back of Ignis's neck and into his hairline, Ignis actually sags in the camp chair, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is low and relieved and -- there's no other word for it -- _hot_. Noct actually jerks up from where he's sitting, his eyes flicking across to meet Prompto's surprised look. Ignis, however, has his eyes closed and doesn't seem to notice their surprise.

Prompto has never thought of Ignis as a sexual being before now. As he resumes the massage, gently urging Ignis to lean forward so that he can work his way down his back, he's suddenly not sure he'll be able to think of anything else again.

When Gladio returns with a stack of clean dishes and pans in his arms, Ignis thanks Prompto for the massage and gets up to start putting everything away. Prompto excuses himself to water the bushes.

He finds a place that's just out of anyone's view (but still within the protection of the campground's sigils), leans his back against a tree, yanks his pants down, and furiously jerks off.

It's not uncommon for any of them to satisfy their needs in such a way. They're all young adult men with sex drives. Gladio is more likely to find a woman of similar mind anytime they're in a larger city, like Lestallum -- actually, there are a couple of ladies he's been looking up whenever they have business there -- but Noct is devoted to Luna, which means a lot of restless alone time for him. (He confessed this once to Prompto, who couldn't listen to more than a minute of it before making a face and playfully covering Noct's mouth with his hand to shut him up.)

This is, however, the first time Prompto's masturbated while thinking about Ignis. Remembering that moan that rippled out of him, deep and utterly uninhibited, Prompto has to stifle a cry of his own with several knuckles.

Afterward, he tells himself that it was a one-time thing.

* * *

It's not a one-time thing.

* * *

For one thing, the next time they rest in a haven (a few days later: they slept in a caravan the following night and a motel the night after that), Ignis sits so heavily in his chair after dinner that Prompto can't help but ask him if he'd like a massage again.

"That would be heavenly," Ignis says, his voice low. Prompto hates the idea that Ignis so rarely indulges himself in something that might actually _help_ , something that might make him feel better and improve his performance, and he hears himself speak before he's even thinking.

"How about, uh. You want to stretch out in the tent and get comfortable?"

Neither Noctis nor Gladio are there: he's fishing, even though they've already eaten, and Gladio's at the dock with him just in case anything pops out of the water to devour them. That might be one of the reasons Prompto decided to offer tonight, so that in case he embarrasses himself, no one will have to witness it. 

(Aside from Ignis, of course.)

Ignis looks thoughtful and distant for long enough that Prompto wonders if he didn't hear him. Then he shrugs and pushes to his feet.

"Why not?" he asks, and unbuttons his shirt, shrugging off his suspenders to let them hang at his hips before he ducks into the tent.

Prompto swallows hard and follows.

He pauses to dig in his bag; he'd grabbed some lotion, just in case, during their last pit stop, while Noct filled up the Regalia's tank and Gladio perused the magazine rack. If Ignis notices, he doesn't say anything; he only stretches out on his sleeping bag, shirtless, settling on his belly (Prompto gets a glimpse of toned chest and abs before Ignis flattens himself out, and sucks in a hard breath). Prompto carefully straddles Ignis's hips, pours some lotion into his hands, and goes to work.

Once he's touching Ignis it's easier to concentrate on the massage, rather than his own nerves. He likes the sounds he gets out of Ignis, too, the low grunts, the occasional wince as Prompto finds a particular cluster of tension -- and then the quiet sigh of pleasure when it eases. Prompto knew guys in high school who would try to offer girls backrubs as a way to get in a grope or two; he always found it distasteful, not to mention deceptive. 

(Is he any worse or any better? He really does want to give Ignis some measure of relief. The fact that he's sort of enjoying it is an unintended side benefit. He'll tell himself that as many times as it takes.)

He spends more time tonight, though that's partly due to the fact that he can actually reach more of Ignis this time. Prompto may not be trained to do this, but he can at least find the places that are knotted the tightest and work his knuckles and the heels of his hands there. Ignis melts by slow degrees until he's practically a puddle beneath him; the light has gone completely from the sky before he finally groans, "Dear Astrals, that's quite enough."

Sitting back on his heels, Prompto smiles. "Better?" he asks.

"I feel I should pay you for your services," Ignis mumbles. His words are nearly slurred, he sounds so relaxed. 

"There's a word for that," Prompto chuckles, and pushes to his feet. "Why don't you take it easy, I have to go take care of the dishes anyway."

He's turned on, unsurprisingly, but it's not the frantic arousal of the other day; he only needs to adjust himself a little, making sure he's angled away from Ignis so he can't see it, before he carefully steps over Ignis to duck out of the tent.

"Thank you," Ignis says, so soft Prompto nearly misses it.

Prompto turns, kneeling in the tent's opening. "Hey, man. You take care of all of us all the time. It's the least I can do."

"Still," Ignis says, and he lifts up a little, propping on an elbow so that he can look up at Prompto. He took off his glasses when he laid down; his eyes are dark, fringed thick with lashes. "I want you to know it's appreciated."

"You're welcome," Prompto says, feeling something twist in his chest. He gets up and goes to gather up the dishes before he does something stupid.

* * *

And then there's the time in Lestallum. The four of them are sharing a room in the Leville as per usual, this time having newly returned from several days (and nights) crawling through icy caves followed by Noct nearly collapsing from a stabbing headache. While Noct sleeps after being dosed with a strong painkiller and something to help him sleep it out, Ignis takes a shower and then emerges in only his trousers, having apparently forgotten to take clean clothes into the bathroom with him.

Sitting on the bed and rubbing a towel over his damp hair, he glances at Prompto, who's been playing King's Knight on his phone while waiting for his turn. He clears his throat; Prompto blinks and looks up at him.

Ignis's expression is almost shy. "I wonder, ah," he says. "If you wouldn't mind terribly..." His voice trails off, as if he's embarrassed to even make the request.

"Oh! Yeah, of course, dude." Prompto nods at once, standing and putting the phone aside.

At that, Gladio gets up with a grunt. "If you're doin' that, then I'm takin' the next turn in the bathroom," he says, peeling off his shirt without hesitation. Prompto only half-notices him go as he finds the lotion in his bag.

Ignis is already sprawled out on the unoccupied bed when Prompto turns around. Prompto sucks in a breath: Ignis's skin is still damp, his shoulderblades wide and flat, spine a sleek groove from his nape to where it disappears under the waistband of his trousers, which themselves lay a little low on his hips. (On his ass. Prompto's staring at his best friend's advisor's ass.)

Prompto gives himself a little mental slap and goes to the bed, pours out some lotion, climbs on the bed and settles himself over Ignis. This is only about helping Ignis out in one small way.

He's unbelievably glad to take his turn in the shower afterwards, even if the water's starting to cool down. The clean male smell of Ignis, his smooth warm skin, the tendrils of damp hair curling at his nape -- Ignis is nothing short of intoxicating.

 _Godsdamn it_ , he thinks as he gets off yet again to a fantasy of Ignis: this time of tugging his pants down and getting his hands on that ass. _This is the fucking worst. I don't have_ time _to start crushing on him_.

* * *

Fortunately for Prompto's sanity, he isn't given any more time to think about his own confusing feelings. When Noctis wakes, the four of them decide to inspect the Disc of Cauthess from the overlook area by the car park to see if they can discern any change in Titan's stance. The next thing Prompto knows, they're being confronted by the man who claimed to be inconsequential at Galdin Quay, who tells them he can get them up close to the Archaean and (finally) gives them a name: Ardyn.

Prompto doesn't like the guy one bit, but at least he doesn't have to ride in the same car with him. And at least they're escorted without harm to the Imperial-blocked entrance to the Disc itself. Not at all suspiciously, Ardyn leaves them there, but they're able to continue on to an observation area, a sort of overlook that opens directly on to the stone face of Titan, the Archaean, an Astral in the flesh (so to speak).

There's a royal tomb here, too. That seems odd to Prompto, to have it right out in the open for anyone to see: but then again, it's not as if anyone but a king of Lucis can claim the armament held inside. He's starting to think it might be all right: Noctis receives the sword and turns to the rest of them, and that's when Titan apparently decides to lose its fucking mind. The earth heaves under them and Noctis flies out of sight. Prompto screams; Gladio goes skidding down the newly-formed slope after him. Prompto nearly does too, but Ignis grabs him before he can slide down into unknown depths.

Together, they wait, panting, as the dust settles and Gladio shouts up to them. Noct's all right, but they can't climb back up. "Stay there," Ignis calls. "We'll find another way around."

Prompto's dubious that there's any path they can take, but he nods, swallowing, and follows Ignis away from the edge. 

"What if we can't find a way down?" he babbles as he and Ignis make their way back up the slope, past the parked Regalia (they'll come back for it later), making slow progress and trying not to get too close to the edge. Titan's still angry, and the ground occasionally shakes: even if it's not with the intensity of the first quake, neither of them have any wish to be caught unawares. Titan's chasm runs deep and rocky; there's no coming back from that fall. 

"We'll find a way down," Ignis says, sounding cool and unperturbed as ever. 

"But what if something happens to them before we--" Prompto starts, his voice climbing high and scared.

Ignis places a hand on the back of Prompto's neck. Even through the leather of his driving glove, Ignis's hand is warm. Ignis's eyes focus on Prompto's, and Prompto suddenly realizes he's barely breathing at all, the image of Ignis receding behind sparkles that batter at his vision.

"Look at me," Ignis says, his voice far calmer than it has any right to be at the moment. "Keep watching me. Prompto," he repeats, and Prompto's eyes somehow find Ignis's, focusing on them, on the steady look Ignis gives him.

"Breathe," he instructs, and Prompto sucks in a wild breath. "Slower." He takes Prompto's hand, brings it to his chest. "Like this." 

Prompto feels Ignis's chest rise and fall under his palm as Ignis counts time: five in, five out. Somehow, he manages to match his breathing to that rhythm. When the sparkles begin to recede from the edges of his sight, he sees Ignis nodding.

"That's better," he says. "You OK?"

Somehow, Prompto nods. He's not, really, but he's getting there -- a lot quicker than if he'd been left to his own devices. 

"Good. Let's keep moving." Ignis starts out again, and Prompto follows, obedient, counting his breaths.

* * *

Titan puts up a hell of a fight, but between the four of them (and a variety of MTs haranguing them at the same time), they manage to take him down so that Noct can forge the covenant. In yet another show of perfect timing, Ardyn appears (in an MT engine) to give them a lift out of the rapidly deteriorating situation.

(The new information that the man's last name is Izunia, identifying him as a chancellor of Niflheim, is unpleasant at best.)

He drops them safely back at the chocobo post, at least, which is better than nothing given the Regalia had to be abandoned in the Disc -- and they don't even know if their transportation can be recovered. Prompto loves chocobos, but the idea of riding them for days at a time makes his butt preemptively ache.

While Gladio goes to pay for the bird rental, Prompto wanders idly around the post. Several chocobos are lined up for rental in nearby stalls, with troughs of water and greens to keep them contented, and he holds up some of the huge leaves of gysahl greens for one of the chocobos, its feathers dyed a dusky blue. The chocobo gives a loud _wark_ and grabs the greens from his hands, even though they were within reach in its trough, and Prompto laughs and backs off. "I wasn't stealing them!" he promises. "Silly bird."

"They're not very bright, are they?" comes Ignis's voice from behind him, and Prompto turns before he stumbles into the other man.

"Legs for days, brain the size of a softball," Prompto says with a chuckle. "Still gotta love 'em, though."

"Or get used to them, at the least." Ignis nudges his glasses up his nose a little and turns to Prompto. "I was wondering how you were feeling."

"Fine," Prompto says automatically, then tilts his head in confusion. "Uh, do you mean -- are you talking about before? When I was panicking?"

Ignis nods. "You seem all right now, but I wanted to be sure. Or to see if there was anything I could do for you."

"I could go for a massage," Prompto says, flippant, the words out before he really thinks about them. But Ignis gives the slightest shrug and nods.

"After the many backrubs you've given me? I can only hope to repay you half as well," Ignis says, and gestures toward the nearby caravan.

Feeling rather as if he's lost control of the situation, Prompto goes.

* * *

What he's not expecting is for Ignis to actually give him a massage. An expert one, at that.

Ignis tells him to strip off his shirt, which he does, tossing that (and the vest) aside, then laying down on the bed at the rear of the caravan as directed. The bed dips as Ignis climbs on it, a knee on either side of Prompto's hips; then Ignis begins to work, and Prompto forgets how to speak.

He's never had a professional massage -- that was something other people did, his mental image that of rich folks with snooty accents sipping gross smoothies at a spa -- and Noct's experience with one in Galdin Quay hadn't appeared too relaxing. But Ignis is as good at this as he is at everything else he does, working out knots of tension Prompto hadn't even known were there at the nape of his neck, digging in down his spine (at one point finding something that made Prompto hiss in pain, but flooded him with relief moments after), even working down the taut muscles of his arms.

When Ignis sits back, ass parked on Prompto's thighs, satisfaction fills his voice. "Is that better?" he asks.

"Just turned me into a big floppy puddle," Prompto mumbles into the bedspread.

"Good. Now, come get up and we'll have lunch and figure out our next move."

Prompto manages a laugh. "Find my bones first and we'll talk."

"Oh, it's not that bad." Ignis shifts off of him, sliding back and standing, and Prompto rolls to his back. When Ignis offers a hand up, Prompto takes it, using Ignis as leverage to sit up. He yelps as he overbalances a little and catches up against Ignis.

To his surprise, though, Ignis doesn't push him away. Instead, he catches Prompto's hands and helps him straighten a little -- and then, before Prompto can pull back, Ignis dips in and kisses him.

Prompto's too stunned to respond beyond a sound of surprise. When Ignis draws back, his eyes are dark and a little worried.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I thought -- my apologies, Prompto, I misinterpreted--"

"No," Prompto says with a sharp inhale, and pushes up into Ignis's personal space and kisses him again. This time, Ignis is the one to make a surprised sound, but his hands come up to the back of Prompto's head and he doesn't pull away. He kisses Prompto, and kisses Prompto, and kisses Prompto.

Prompto finally has to break off the kiss only because his lungs are burning. He clutches at Ignis, blinking up at him, as Ignis gathers him in closer. "What--what did you mean, you thought--?" he blurts.

"I thought you were offering me those backrubs because you were interested," Ignis says, amused. "I'm glad to see I wasn't wrong after all."

Prompto breaks into helpless laughter and sags against Ignis again. He'll explain why later.


End file.
